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About This Author
Absolute beginner, Reader, Reviewer, ESL writer, Poet, Blogger, Novelist, Published author, Psychology degree, Dog lover. Quill finalist
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In honest simple verse
OVI: an ancient Indian form of narrative poetry consisting of four-line stanzas with the first three lines rhyming and having eight syllables each. The fourth line does not rhyme and contains less than eight syllables.
Dnyaneshwaar (1275-1296) was the first to use ovi in literature. (Illustration)
August 15, 2022 at 9:26am August 15, 2022 at 9:26am
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Imagine
A world without violence and pain
Where people interact not in vain
With love, understanding the brain
- Imagine
The heart, major power to use
Arms, to include all; introduce
Space and liberty reproduce
- Imagine
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August 13, 2022 at 10:27pm August 13, 2022 at 10:27pm
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Salman Rushdie, writer of tale
Got stabbed yesterday in assail
On stage, before he could prevail
- Freedom of speech attacked
A fatwa on his head was set
Now he lies in hospital bed
Maimed for life, luckily not dead
- Pray for recovery
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August 12, 2022 at 10:07am August 12, 2022 at 10:07am
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Weeping willow in summertime.
Hanging down, lush leaves green as lime.
This nature’s hideout is sublime.
Giving shelter.
Strong, long branches way up high,
Stringing down from the sky.
When my dog Sprout is passing by
He pees at them.
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August 10, 2022 at 5:53pm August 10, 2022 at 5:53pm
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Palm reading: marked lines in my hands
Are telling a tale, grasping trends
Life-long visuals make amends
With scattered broken paths
Love, destiny, travel, and stress
Right or left hand, they both possess
Influence, growth, outcome, or mess
As past and future maps
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August 9, 2022 at 12:21pm August 9, 2022 at 12:21pm
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Murderous Poet
It’s late at night, I am wond’ring
Rhyming, thinking, a bit pond’ring
- two flies buzzing, circling, blund’ring…
Wished them dead!
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August 9, 2022 at 12:18pm August 9, 2022 at 12:18pm
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Working in silence
Work in silence being a scribe
Means isolation avoiding the hype
Social media, and the vibe
- Just me and the screen
Words, sentences, and storylines
Poetry with or without rhymes
Hours of passion, in the mines
Of the lonely writer
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August 9, 2022 at 12:15pm August 9, 2022 at 12:15pm
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My uncle Frits
A younger brother of my mom
Frits, twenty-one - the bravest one
From Holland to New Guinee, won
A medal when he died
Nineteen sixty-one, end of war
He headed home, free to explore
His life with family and more
Stepped on a landmine
Great mourning of this loss back home
My pregnant mom felt all alone
My life began, it set the tone
- a difficult bond
Frits got attention he deserved
Years later a plaquette reserved
In an army meeting observed
By us all, the family
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August 9, 2022 at 12:09pm August 9, 2022 at 12:09pm
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My first Ovi
In the second wind of my life
Turning sixty-one, seem to thrive
long fortuitous way to drive
Without a destination
So, soulsearching and thinking hard
Where do I go from here, you bard
What is the purpose, goal, new start
How-to from now? |
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